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Dorothy Inman is a Louisville transplant from St. Louis, MO. She spent 8 years in the corporate world and is now a stay at home mom. She is currently pursuing a career in writing and also co-leads the "Create" Art team at her church. Join her in her musings about writing, art, religion and this thing we call life.

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Both doors of the worldStand OpenOpened to you at twilightWe hear the doors slamming and slammingAnd we hear what can't be knownAnd we hear what's green in your alwaysPaul Celan New Years Eve has been set aside as a time to reflect on the year that is passing and resolve to make the next year better. Every year, at 11:50 (in their respective time zones), the world counts down to 12:00, while in New York a bedazzled disco ball drops from Times Square in New York. When the clock strikes midnight, you kiss your significant other and sing "Auld Lang Syne" with 100 of your closest friends while clutching a glass of champagne in your hand.

The New Year has begun.

Instagram, Twitter and Facebook is instantly filled with pictures of parties, quiet celebrations and greetings of "Happy New Year."

My soul glorifies the Lordand my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,for he has been mindfulof the humble state of his servant.From now on all generations will call me blessed,For the Mighty One has done great things for me, Holy is His Name.Luke 1:46-49

Last Christmas morning I thought today would be much different.

In the early hours of the day I would have been woken up by the faint sound of a baby's cry, calling for her mama to feed her. As I sat in the faint light of Christmas morning, the little girl would have nuzzled me and brought me warmth. My heart would have swelled with great joy and pride at this beautiful creature that had been gifted to me. I would have thought about how Mary would have felt over 2,000 years ago as she gently held the Christ child. I would have been in awe that I could share this form of basic humanity with her. I would have been full of such great love. But that was not meant to be. Instead, this morning I woke up with a 3 1/2 year old child kic…

I have done a lot of reflecting over the past 11 months. I have done a lot of grieving and a lot of changing (whether intentional or unintentional, for better or worse). If there is one thing I have been trying to learn, and trying to learn to do well, it is to be thankful. I haven't been perfect at it and in some ways I haven't even been trying, but it is an unexpected flood that has come out of the pain that this last year has brought me. There have been moments that I would have normally let pass, as if they were vapors, that I now know to tuck deep down into my soul, in hopes they would nourish every part of me. Moments that I hope to remember for the rest of my life. Moments that would mold me into the human I am to become. This time last year I was 14 weeks pregnant. I was tired and nauseous. I had a two and a half year old and she was pressing every button ever known to man (and some unknown buttons). I had no idea how to sit back and really enjoy the little g…

We have been having issues with our now three and a half year old little girl staying in her bed at night (and going to bed at night, but I digress). She's had sleeping problems since she was a newborn. For every 2 months of good sleeping, we get 8 months of bad sleeping. When she was a baby and we were out of town she managed to get a really bad cold, so the co-sleeping began. I always said that I would NEVER co-sleep, but the joke was on me. Her sleeping issues have not always resulted in her sleeping with us, but lately, more often than not, that has been the case. The recent bout started in July (shortly after her third birthday) and has been going on for almost four months. Some nights, she will come in after we have already gone to sleep and I do not know she is in there until I wake up in the morning (ah, those blessed mornings). However, some nights (like Sunday night), she comes in before we are ready for bed and…

When I was in college I made an observation about my mother that would forever change my view of her: my mom was always quick to forgive her children and she never held grudges against them. On the journey to becoming an adult, when I reflected on my childhood, I realized that even though I was a "good" kid, I still treated my family, especially my mom, pretty crappy at times. After I got married our relationship changed. She was no longer a mother authoritarian figure, but a mother friend. She would always pick up the phone when I called and any time I was short with her, she was (and is) still eager to forgive.

In the book, "Something Other Than God", Jennifer Fulwiler, an atheist who was searching for God, relays a comical story about her son and mother. At the time she had an 18 month old son and was very pregnant with her second child. Jennifer and her husband lived with her mom and their son, who just …

"Suffering allows others the opportunity to share heroic acts of
love. So often, suffering can lead to growth in charity and in love for
the those near the one who suffers. Christian charity will continue to
exist as long as we have suffering. 'Whatever you do to the least of
these, you do to me.'"KariYou may remember when I spoke about starting a support group for women who have suffered a miscarriage back at the end of May on the due date of our baby girl, Ezraela Eaven (who I miscarried back on December 31, 2013 when I was 18 weeks pregnant}. The summer seemed to go by at lightening speed. In late July, after speaking with several women who I knew that had experienced a miscarriage, I began the group, "Miscarriage Not Anonymous" on Facebook. Personally, this group has provided me a bevy of support, encouragement and a safe place to cry or vent. I have been in awe of the stories that the women have shared and so very grateful for the encouragem…

It has been a little over three weeks since that fateful Saturday afternoon when an unarmed African American teen, Michael Brown, was shot by a white police officer, Darren Wilson, in Ferguson, MO. To be quite honest, I have had a difficult time wrapping my brain around everything that has transpired and how I, a Christ follower, should respond to this tragedy. I've had Facebook friends who were quick to say that Michael Brown's shooter was a racist, bigot and deserved to be hanged on the spot. And others join groups to raise money for the cop and his family or and saying this shouldn't be a "white" and "black" issue because racism doesn't exist anymore. I have read comments on pages regarding the incident where people have encouraged the African American population to stop shopping and supporting at white places of business. I have also witnessed other people saying that Mike Brown deserved to be shot. People are deciding the fate of both Mi…

There is a letter my third grade teacher, Mrs. Westbrook, gave me on February 16, 1990 that is hanging on my refrigerator. It reads, "I really think you might grow up to be an author. I'm so glad you like to write creative stories! You do a great job!" I leave it there to encourage myself that at one time there was someone out there who saw potential in a 9 year old little girl to be a writer. This life has taken me on some pretty bumpy rides, but if there has been one thing that has been constant, it is my writing. It started with a drawer full of notebooks with unfinished novels in my elementary and teen years. I am hope it ends with a published novel. I started this blog to share my writing with you, but also to share my hopes, dreams, trials and victories.